


Octop-I? Octop-Us!

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Other, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tentacles, Silas style</p>
            </blockquote>





	Octop-I? Octop-Us!

**Author's Note:**

> This is an odd story but it was fun to write

Kirsch doesn’t really study, so he doesn’t know that Silas University has a library until after he’s broken into it. He walks between shelves of books, shining his flashlight into the darkness and frowning at the dusty tomes.

“Hello?” He calls.

Because Kirsch is ignorant of the library, he’s unaware of a few unspoken rules amongst the students.

     1. Never, ever, go into the library after dark.

This one’s actually a campus rule, but it exists to the students even when mischief strikes. As a result, not even the worst of the trouble-makers dares to break the mandate.

     2. Always be quiet. Do not, under any circumstances, draw attention to yourself while you’re in the library.

This is, again, one of those rules that exists officially and unofficially. It’s scrawled into the placard up front, where, in the library’s open hours, a stern looking woman sits, peering suspiciously at all who enter.

It’s also scrawled into everyone’s minds. Literally, for those whose who dare to violate the rule when Mrs. Easton is about. Everyone fears Mrs. Easton. That is, in fact, rule number 3.

     3. Fear Mrs. Easton

That one is on the placard too.

What isn’t on the official rules list are the following:

     4. Aisles J-K are lying. Do not go into the aisles J-K

     5. Yes, that is the ghost of Janitor Watkins in the abandoned corridor off the back. He’s nice enough. The others aren’t. Don’t go into the corridor.

     6. Never. Ever. EVER. Go into the Reading Room. _Ever._

     7. Ignore the screaming. **Do not go into the Reading Room.**

     8. Seriously. Reading Room? No.

There are more rules, but it’s numbers 1, 2, and, regrettably, 6-8, that pertain to Kirsch’s circumstances.

The young man pokes out from aisle I, peering into the grand dome of the study.

“Hello?” He calls again. “I heard a hottie in peril.” He offers as an explanation. It’s up for debate whether he’s talking to himself, the building, or the invisible ‘hottie’ in his mind, but he receives no response either way. The scream that comes seconds after is, most likely, a coincidence. It’s a fortunate one, in that it prevents Kirsch from going into section Ja-Je, where he’d be besieged by a web of whispering, invisible spiders. Unfortunately, it results in him stepping out and looking in the very worst direction.

Kirsch spots the faint shimmer of light, illuminating the sign for the Reading Room. As most of the ghosts could tell you, the room itself wasn’t built so much as it appeared. Where it came from not even the dean knows, but it has siblings across campus in the form of the deceptively labelled Supply Closet (off-limits), the Geography Club Meeting Room (off-limits,) and the Bizarre Arched Doorway in the Woods That No One Wants to Talk About and The Dean Claims Doesn’t Exist, aka Yeah, That One, The One Behind You, which would be off limits if it didn’t stop moving locations. And if anyone acknowledged that it was there. Which they don’t, because it’s not.

Kirsch is blissfully unaware of most of these things, as his activities at the university are limited and mostly involve substances that help him _forget. Forgetting_ is important at Silas. _Forgetting_ is the only important thing at Silas.

The young man journeys towards the Reading Room. His flashlight flickers and dies when he pushes the archaic door open. A rough, ancient stone stairway, lit by torches, greets him. The screaming comes again and Kirsch takes the steps down. A harsh slam comes and the screaming goes silent.

Kirsch looks back to where he’s now been shut in. He frowns, but doesn’t abandon his mission. He doesn’t need to glance down to his shirt, where his frat’s slogan is scrawled in neat cursive, to remember his mission, but he does anyway, tracing the letters and whispering them to himself.

“Save the hotties.” He mutters, solidifying his determination. He continues onward, wondering just what kind of beautiful person he’s rescuing. “Hello?” He calls again. Breaking so many rules and codes of conduct, he debates hair colors and descends into the Reading Room.

He hears dripping noises and the air fills with a musty scent. Kirsch passes through an archway and peers out into the cave he’s come to. There’s a pond taking up most of the room. Several abandoned books float in spools of algae, abandoned long ago by misguided students who entered the place for some light reading.

Kirsch frowns. His footsteps echo off the stone dome. He has a relatively peaceful few seconds to contemplate before the monster grabs him.

Kirsch sputters, emerging from liquid depths and blinking water out of his eyes. He’s been pulled into the pond and some rather sturdy tentacles have looped around him, keeping him in place. He coughs and struggles, only freezing when an eye blinks at him from a thick, dark blob.

“You’re not a hottie.” Kirsch observes hoarsely, staring at the tentacle creature.

A scream arrives in response, and Kirsch cringes, ears ringing and body shaking as the sound drives through him. He’s not sure if he’s offended the beast or not, and he isn’t given time to consider as he’s pulled once again under the liquid.

Kirsch is positive that he’s being drowned. He wonders, as he struggles and suffocates inside the water, if this counts as a heroic death or a misfortunate mishap. He supposes it depends what results from it. Or if people find out, which he’s hoping they will. If he can’t have a glorious ending, he can at least have an acknowledged one. He hopes his brothers give him a good funeral.

Kirsch relinquishes himself to his fate, but it’s not to be as the monster lifts him up and offers him oxygen. He sputters and gulps in desperate swallows. Blinking tears and water from his eyelids, he finds that he’s in a secret cavern even further underground than the last one.

It’s cold and seems a rather lonely place. Kirsch spots a collection of random artifacts, taken from around campus, piled up in the corner.

“Hey, that’s my sweater.” He notes, objection sneaking into his tone. The tentacle monster shifts him around, spinning him through the water. Kirsch frowns, trying not to get dizzy. He’s yanked out of the liquid and dangled upside down while feelers work over him, touching him through his clothing. He’s under inspection, he realizes.

Kirsch quickly arrives to the hypothesis that he’s about to be eaten. His sudden acceptance of death fades rapidly and he starts to stumble over his words, attempting to find a reason of why he’d be an awful meal.

“I’m stringy.” He says. “Well, not stringy.” He’s worked hard on his physique, and it’s a nice one if he says so himself. “But you don’t want to eat me. I mean, look at you! Not that you’re fat! Or that there’s anything wrong with that, if you are. Because you are one fine-looking…octopus?” He guesses.

A burble comes from the pond and he frowns.

“Squid?” He tries again.

A tentacle peels away his soaked hem and prods at his abdomen. Kirsch lets out a sound rather reminiscent of the Pillsbury Doughboy.

“Hey!” He protests, when the giggling subsides. He’s horribly ticklish. The tentacle circles around his waist and turns him upright. Kirsch’s vision goes blurry as his blood rushes and he takes a moment to compose himself.

“Right, like I was saying.” Kirsch says. “Eating me? Bad idea. Totally unsatisfying. I’m like a McNugget when you want a steak.”

The eye blinks at him.

“You really don’t understand that reference, do you?” He asks. “Um, I’m like plankton when what you really want is…flounder?” He guesses. An awkward pause follows. “Yeah, I don’t know what tentacle monsters eat. I failed Marine Biology. Three times. Which is funny, because I don’t even need it as a class, so I should stop taking it, but it always fits into my schedule. And it’s not like I know what I want to do anyway. I just know I want it to be fun and not boring, but my dad wants me to get a boring degree like- mmmf-”

The monster, seemingly tired of Kirsch’s babbling, has shoved a tentacle into the man’s mouth. Kirsch freezes, feeling the slick appendage squirm against his tongue. He still tries to talk after the realization’s set in, but all that comes out are muffled noises of protest.

The beast continues its inspection, peeling away layers of Kirsch’s clothing. The man had just been beginning to sympathize with the creature, feeling the echo of its lonely existence down here in the lagoon, but that trickles away as he becomes more vulnerable and unclothed.

He babbles incoherently behind the tentacle and swallows thickly against a wad of saliva and pond scum. His clothing disappears under the depths. The monster’s thorough, even discarding Kirsch’s shoes, and the young man shudders, sensing the ending hover close once again.

His legs are separated and a tentacle presses against his genitalia, lifting it to allow the monster to look. Kirsch feels his testicles sway and blinks wide eyes at the cave ceiling, anxiety and panic twisting in his gut. His penis is replaced and a tentacle presses against his ass.

Slick and slime rub against his entrance and Kirsch flexes his fists, feeling the strong desire to punch the creature and get it away from his nether regions. The grip on him is too strong though and he clenches his eyes shut and tries to pray the situation away.

That doesn’t work, of course, because it rarely does, and he’s startled by the sudden pressure of a feeler at his hole. Kirsch stares down at the creature and thinks that this a very odd way to go about eating something.

The tentacle burns horribly and Kirsch’s mind floods with terrified thoughts and hopeless anxiety. He spots his shoe bobbing off in the water and grieves at its demise the same way one might worry over their ruined furniture while their house burns down around them. It’s pointless and petty, but it gives him something to focus on as the tentacle spears him. The shoe sinks down into the pool and Kirsch is forced, once again, to dedicate his attention to the monster.

It’s feeler presses up into him. It feels huge and he wonders how deep it is and how much deeper it plans to go. Fearing the worst, he shudders and blinks down. He half expects to see his pelvis bulging out like something from a horror movie, but it isn’t. There’s just the slightest of curves, but it could be the light or his imagination. His four pack is still intact and though his legs are spread wide, they aren’t tearing away from him like they are in his mind. He isn’t being split in half. He just feels like it.

The tentacle hits up a little too far into him, a little too uncomfortably close to organs it shouldn’t be, but fortunately it seems to know well enough to stop. It doesn’t retreat, so Kirsch is dangerously full, but it doesn’t keep going and the young man thinks that’s either a miracle or a sign that the creature’s going to take it’s time. With quivering thighs and sweaty skin, the man waits, breathing in shallow breaths. The tentacle swirls and Kirsch shudders, a small moan pressing up against the feeler in his mouth.

The twisting, twitching mass inspects his hole and the eye blinks at him dispassionately. Of course, it’s hard to read emotion from a one-eyed tentacle monster, particularly when the majority of it is obscured by the water and the dim lighting of the cave, but Kirsch imagines it to be dispassionate, if only because he feels rather like a frog on the dissection table.

Tentacles crawl up his sides while the one in his ass begins to retreat. Kirsch breathe heavily and tries to gather his bearings. He feels suckers pull on his skin and very vaguely remembers something from his third Marine Biology class.

_“The cephalopod monstrum tastes it’s victims with it’s suckers before – Kirsch! For the last time, this is a class, not your bedroom. If you need to sleep, get out, otherwise pay attention.”_

Kirsch mentally kicks himself for choosing the former option given to him by Professor Lennings. Maybe if he’d stayed, he’d know more about his current predicament.

The suckers feel like mouths as they work at his skin and Kirsch shudders. Behind fear and the distinct desire to run and escape, he feels an odd sort of warmth sparking up under the tentacles. He whimpers and flinches, trying to get away. Feelers curl around his chest to hold him firmly in place, but the grip need not be so tight, as the feeling of suckers on his nipples results in Kirsch going pliant, nerves sparking with something offputtingly wonderful.

Each pump of his chest has warmth flashing through him, down to his groin, and a flush builds on his skin. Kirsch’s eyes slip shut and he tries to breathe through it, telling himself he won’t get hard.

The tentacle in his ass stops its slow retreat and Kirsch realizes he almost forgot about it with all the other sensations. He recalls it rather violently when the tentacle pushes back up into him, harder and quicker this time. Kirsch cries out in surprise and trembles. The tentacle stills again, up where it stopped the first time, so deep and so wet and slick. Kirsch shudders, watching the creature in terror. That one eye keeps staring at him, taking it all in, and Kirsch pleads with it. What he’s pleading for specifically is just one of the many mysteries of the evening, another unclear bit of information lost in translation. Kirsch is learning one thing about himself in this experience and it’s that he doesn’t really know himself very well at all, and he hopes he’ll get the chance to get reacquainted when this is all over.

Kirsch waits warily, watching for the creature’s next move. Its tentacles flex restlessly. The one in his mouth twitches over his teeth and tongue and he only just manages to keep from gagging. The feeler in his ass twirls over his insides and Kirsch lets out a long whine. The appendage spirals downward, retreating again and Kirsch waits tensely, toes curling as suckers continue to pull at his now tender nipples.

He begins to protest again, to try to say that it’s too much and his chest is buzzing and raw, but he’s cut off with yet another thrust. His ass stings, but there are nerves there that spark pleasantly when the feeler brushes past them. It’s not enough to make him fully hard, not for a while at least, but it’s enough to have his dick stiffening with interest. Especially when it’s paired with the suckers on his skin. Kirsch’s fingers twitch and he whimpers helplessly.

Cautiously, Kirsch looks at the monster from the Reading Room, meeting the gaze of it’s single, impassive eye. It seems to slowly grow in size until it’s all he can see and he finds himself lost in that terrifying golden iris. Odd in it’s shape and origin, the orb glows a hue similar to that of a traffic light warning drivers to slow. Unlike one of those drivers, the monster isn’t slow. It moves quickly, a pace separate from the patient, exploratory touches it offered previously. It seems to have pinpointed where on Kirsch’s body it wants to touch and it stimulates those spots with a gusto heretofore unexperienced by the young Silas University student.

Saliva drips past the tentacle in Kirsch’s mouth and froths over his lips, mixing in with the moist coating on the monster’s rubbery skin. It slides over his chin and down his neck and he moans, struggling to swallow to save himself a little dignity. It’s hard to concentrate on that, however, when his hips are propelled forward and back by the intrusion working in and out of him.

Water laps at Kirsch’s thighs as he’s brought lower and closer to the creature. He lets out a fearful whine, wondering if this is the part where he’s eaten or drowned. The creature’s head disappears underwater and Kirsch feels the pool come up higher, to around his shoulders. He closes his eyes and quivers, but he’s not brought below the surface.

Kirsch allows himself a little relief before he’s swept up in the feeling of tentacles moving over him. The feeler in his mouth retreats and Kirsch pants for breath past swollen lips. It only lasts a moment before a new, slicker tentacle comes up and presses into his mouth. He feels the previous appendage move down into the water and slide over his chest. It pets across his sides, joining the swarm of feelers already binding him.

Kirsch groans, jumping when tentacles prod at his toes and fingers and, most alarmingly, his dick. Kirsch knows he’ll get properly hard if his cock’s stimulated, so he tries to flinch away, but it’s of little use and only results in him rocking back onto the intrusion in his ass. He whines, forced to helplessly submit to the vine coiling around his cock.

Kirsch’s body burns as he’s stroked and fucked. His dick’s straining far too quickly, stimulated by sloshing water and a tight, slick grip.

His eyes glaze over. Not from boredom, which is why they usually glaze, but from the hazy pleasure dripping over him. His heart pounds in his ears and he feels himself pulled back and forth between panic and a growing desire to come. He’s always been impatient. As soon as he’s hard, he’s working for the orgasm and he’s never managed to master the type of mindset that puts one in the mood for long sex sessions.

Of course, not knowing the creature’s plans for him after it makes him come (if that is, indeed, it’s intention) Kirsch tries to reign himself in and hold off on his climax. His ass twitches, hole contracting around the tentacle working in and out. He moans, feeling his prostate send electric shocks through him. He squeezes around the tentacle, which moves deep and quick despite his tension. His hips shudder and the feeler working over his cock prods against the tip, making him cry out.

He curses in his head, a steady stream of vulgar language broken up by flashes of short circuiting nerves and explosions of pleasure. When he gets his bearings, the mantra starts over again, a barrage of swears until his prostate’s hit or his dick’s pulled and then he’s arching and crying out, mind getting lost in a momentary daze while he struggles for air. He moans against the tentacle in his mouth, even finds his tongue laving at it and his lips sucking at it, if only because it gives him something to do and keeps him from biting down. He feels suckers catch against the skin in his mouth and groans.

His nipples were relinquished when the monster shifted him into the water and he arches subtly, bumping them up against a nearby tentacle with each thrust, just so he can feel a bit of that spark again. He’s greedy now, seeking pleasure everywhere.

Kirsch’s eyes roll and he melts in the creature’s grasp, feeling like goo. His hands are pruny, he notes idly while he holds off his orgasm as best he can. He’s not really sure how one keeps from coming. He thinks mind over matter helps to an extent, but eventually the person’s going to have to come, and Kirsch is very close to that.

The tentacle swirls inside of him and pulses and Kirsch groans, abs twitching with the desire to rock onto the intrusion. It seems slower now and more erratic, fucking into him with motions that are deep and just right to push him closer and closer. He’s not far off and he moans, willing his body to stop tensing and his groin to stop throbbing.

The feeler on his dick clutches at him, the suckers pulling on the head. His nipples scrape over the tentacle around his chest and when he tries to move away, regretting getting closer, the feeler layers over his torso again, sucking at the tender nubs. Kirsch lets out a broken whimper and struggles to swallow around a build-up of slime and saliva.

He feels the monster move and fear twists in his gut. He clings to it, trying to let it pull him away from pleasure. It works, for a few seconds, but the creature’s still fucking him relentlessly, if sloppily, and Kirsch is hard and desperate. His toes curl and his fingers pull at the tentacles binding them. He lets out trembling breaths through his nose, surprised he’s breathing at all because he thinks he might break or suffocate if he doesn’t come soon.

Kirsch, body unwilling to hold off any longer, quakes as his swollen member pulsates, pumping cum into the water. His ass quivers, sucking the tentacle in. Kirsch keens, climax tinged with fear, pain, and shame. The latter because it’s one of the most overwhelmingly pleasurable orgasms he’s had in his life. He feels the creature shudder too and blinks his eyes open, frowning when he sees black ink spread through the water.

^^^^^^^^^^

Kirsch wakes up, confused and naked, in the woods behind Silas’ campus. He’d like to say it’s the first time this has happened, but it’s not. He glances down at his state of undress, only slightly alarmed to find a sticky, dark, ink-like substance sticking to his skin. He could question it. He could also question the arched doorway sitting between two oak trees in close proximity to his location. It looks alarmingly real for something that doesn’t exist and Kirsch would be well in his right to spend at least a moment contemplating it. He doesn’t.

He picks himself up off the forest floor and walks, nude and proud, through the woods. As he takes steady footsteps across harsh woodland, he lets himself _forget_. He’s already forgotten most of the night as it is. He knows there was a hottie in peril and he’s not sure of much else, but he assumes he saved the hottie. The fact that he woke up covered in goo and lying next to the Door That Shall Not Be Named is concerning, but it’s nothing that can’t be cured by a little forgetting.

Kirsch draws closer to campus and it’s then that he shields his groin, peeking out from behind a bush and debating the walk back to Zeta House. If he had his phone, he could call Will for help, but he’s not sure where his phone has gone. He tries not to think about it.

What Kirsch doesn’t know is that Will is already quite aware of the young man’s predicament. The vampire, off in the woods, opens the arched doorway and listens to the burble from inside. He sighs.

“You know that was wrong.” He admonishes the creature. Burbling comes again. “Oh really? You try telling mom that.”

The creature screams and Will cringes.

“Okay, okay, shut up!” He snaps. He lifts a wooden bucket full of fish guts and throws the contents inside. “Eat your breakfast.” He snaps.

The beast warbles back at him, something that could be pleasant or conversational or neither, but is only understood by the vampire and the trees that listen carefully, just as they do every morning.

Kirsch, unaware of most things but especially unaware of these things, makes his way precariously back to his dorm, overcoming a series of obstacles in the forms of teachers and janitors until he’s tucked safely in his bed. He snuggles into the down, stealing a few hours slumber before his morning class. Maybe this time he’ll actually ace Marine Biology, he thinks hopefully, before relinquishing himself to his dreams. When he wakes up later, he blames his visions of tentacles on his thoughts prior to sleeping, blissfully ignorant of the creature longing for him in the waterways beneath Silas University. Which, quite frankly, is quite a good thing to be ignorant of.


End file.
